


The Levee Breaks

by umbralillium



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, reference to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbralillium/pseuds/umbralillium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is tired and just wants to feel safe again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Levee Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves one character pulling (but not discharging) a gun at another character. It also features slightly-broken!Stiles, Papa Stilinski whump and is spoilery for the season 2 finale.

**The Levee Breaks**

 

It wasn't supposed to come to this. The plan had been to handle the alpha pack themselves, to keep hunters out of it all together. That was the plan before Stiles got hurt, before _Stiles's dad_ ended up in the hospital. Stiles can almost feel his heart break, knowing that this is his fault. He could have better prepared his father for this, by just telling him the truth, by being honest for the first time in _months_.

 

He wants to know that his dad's okay, but there are things to be done. The alphas chose the wrong person to attack, even if it was supposed to have been Stiles in surgery right now. Possibly even dead. The thought makes his heart clench in his chest. No, he's not thinking about this right now. He can't think about the possibility of becoming an orphan. He needs to focus. He needs to get his dad's spare gun and wolfsbane bullets. Fortunately, he knows where to get both.

 

It's a challenge, driving with one arm in a sling and a bandage on the other hand, but he pushes past the pain. He pulls into his driveway and walks inside. His dad's gunsafe is in the closet. Stiles stares at it for a moment, wracking his brain for what the combination might be. He draws a deep breath and tries his mom's birthday. The lock beeps and he hears it click open. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says as he takes his dad's spare revolver, makes sure it's loaded and stalks back out to the Jeep.

 

The drive across town to the Argents' house passes in a blur as flashes of the past two hours play in his mind, reminding him why he's doing this. Laughing with his dad as they walk out of Betty's Diner after a rare night out together. A flash of white out of the corner of his eye and a rising snarl his only warning before he's pushed aside and his dad takes the brunt of the attack meant for him. His dad pinned down under the massive wolf's paws, his hands clamped tight around the wolf's muzzle the only thing saving him from having his throat ripped out by it's fangs. Scrambling for his dad's cruiser, praying his dad left it unlocked, because he was so damn trusting that no one would steal the sheriff's cruiser. Digging through the trunk for a road flare. Bright red fire, the smell of scorched fur, the alpha's yelp of pain.

 

He doesn't remember breaking his arm when he fell, he doesn't remember slicing his hand open, all he remembers is frantically searching for his dad's pulse after the alpha's gone and rush of relief that left him limp and shaking when he felt it. He remembers the wail of the ambulance sirens, he remembers wondering who called 911 and what exactly they said. He remembers curling into a corner of the ambulance while the paramedics worked to stabilize his dad. He remembers Scott's mom taking him by the shoulders when he tried to follow the gurney and steering him into an exam room. He doesn't remember his arm being set or the stitches being sewn into his palm.

 

He blinks and he's in front of the Argents' house; blinks again and he's ringing the doorbell, the metal of his dad's revolver cool against his lower back.

 

"Stiles," Mr. Argent says when he opens the door. "What can I do for you?"

 

Stiles tries to smile but, judging by the narrowing of Mr. Argent's eyes, he's pretty sure it didn't come out right. "May I come in?"

 

Mr. Argent stares at him for a long moment before nodding and stepping back. Stiles slips inside, keeping his eyes on Mr. Argent as he closes the door and turns back to face Stiles. "Something wrong?"

 

"I need wolfsbane bullets," Stiles answers, for once not fidgeting under someone's steady regard.

 

Mr. Argent crosses his arms over his chest. "They're not play things, Stiles," he rebuts.

 

"I'm not a child, Mr. Argent," Stiles replies. "I may be sixteen, but I know how bullets work. My dad," he ignores his voice breaking slightly. "Taught me how to use a gun."

 

Mr. Argent's frown deepens. "Did something happen to your father?"

 

"That's not your business," Stiles snaps. "I need the bullets."

 

"If something's happened with the alphas, son, you need-"

 

" _Don't call me that,_ " Stiles snarls. "My name is Stiles, _use it._ ".

 

Mr. Argent holds his hands up in a calming gesture. "All right. Calm down, Stiles. Tell me what happened."

 

"You already figured it out, I don't need to explain anything. Just give me the bullets."

 

"Stiles, you need to let me handle this," Mr. Argent says calmly.

 

" _No_ ," Stiles answers. "I don't trust you not to hurt my pack. Just give me the bullets."

 

"Stiles, I wouldn't--"

 

"Don't lie to me!" Stiles yells, grabbing the gun from his waistband and pointing it at Mr. Argent. "I'm tired of lies, I'm tired of the people I love being hurt. I just want all the pain to _stop_. I want the alphas dead for what they've done."

 

"You can't be the one to do it, Stiles," a new voice says. Stiles's eyes don't leave Mr. Argent's.

 

"I just want to feel safe again, Scott," Stiles replies, voice breaking again. "The only way to do that is to kill the alphas and the only way to do _that_ , is with a wolfsbane bullet."

 

"We know that," Derek answers.

 

"Wha-? No. No. _Way_. What are you doing here, Derek?" Stiles demands, chancing a glance at Derek then back to Mr. Argent, both of them are looking way too calm right now. It's kind of freaky.

 

"Scott and I agreed that there's only one way to win this: to work together," Derek replies.

 

"With _him_?" Stiles demands, nodding at Mr. Argent.

 

"Yes," Derek says, moving closer so that he's in Stiles's peripheral vision. "I don't trust him, but I need his help. _We_ need his help. My betas aren't ready to fight alphas, Scott's not ready, I'm not even sure _I'm_ ready. So yeah, we need him."

 

Derek steps between Stiles and Mr. Argent, making Stiles step back, gun jerking up to point at the ceiling. "Derek--"

 

"Stiles," Derek interrupts. "We need him for more than his bullets. If you want to shoot something, shoot me."

 

"What? No! Derek--" Stiles and Scott cry in unison

 

"I'll heal, if you really want to shoot someone, shoot someone that won't hold it against you," Derek continues, voice level, eyes locked on Stiles. "Shoot the person that's really to blame for this."

 

"You're not--. I don't blame you, Derek," Stiles tells him, frowning, letting his gun hand fall.

 

"I'm the one that bit a bunch of teenagers," Derek replies. "I'm the one that couldn't get my pack together. I'm the one that didn't make sure Peter couldn't come back. I'm the one that drew so much attention to us."

 

"No, Derek, they're the ones that chose to come here, they're the ones that chose to come after--," Stiles stops, blinking then narrows his eyes at Derek. "I know what you're doing." A hint of a smile tugs at Derek's lips.

 

"Your dad getting hurt wasn't your fault, Stiles," Scott murmurs, sympathy in his voice.

 

"Do you know how I broke my arm?" Stiles asks, voice wavering.

 

"Tell me," Derek requests.

 

"I didn't even feel it break," Stiles explains, Derek's face blurring as tears and memories cloud his eyes. "All I remember is hearing the alpha then Dad pushed me out of the way and the alpha was on him. I don't even know if he's _alive_. All I could think while they were setting my arm and putting stitches in my hand was that I just want it to _stop_. The lies, the fear, the worry. I want to feel safe again, Derek."

 

"I know," Derek says quietly from bare inches away, his hand wrapping around Stiles's bare wrist, gently taking the gun away and passing it off to Mr. Argent. "We'll get there, Stiles. It won't be over today or tomorrow, but we _will_ win. This is our home and we won't let them take it from us."

 

Stiles sighs, the last of the adrenaline fading, and lets his head fall forward so his forehead rests against Derek's chest. "Thank you," he whispers. Derek reaches up, silent, and squeezes the back of Stiles's neck gently, a wealth of words in the simple gesture: you're welcome, I'm here, I understand. A second later, Stiles feels Scott's hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

 

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my sister, Jestana, and my dear Mel for betaing this. Especially Mel for helping me figure out plot points and reassuring me that Stiles wasn't too OOC. Inspired by the gifs here: http://umbralillium.tumblr.com/post/32110914429


End file.
